It’s late - one of those quiet nights when the whole city seems to hold its breath. The office is dimly lit, cluttered with paperwork, weapons, and an ashtray full of half-smoked cigarettes. Goro Majima’s at his desk, eye focused, fingers tapping away on some handwritten report he's already bored of.

He hates paperwork. But he has to do it.

You, lounging on the couch nearby, can see it on his face. That little tick in his jaw. The restless foot tapping. The way he mutters curses under his breath every time he has to rewrite something.

You stand. Silently.

And without a word... you strut over to his chair.

He barely glances up. “Don’t even think about it, kitten—”

You slide into his lap.

Goro Majima freezes.

His pen stalled. “The hell’re you doin’?” he murmurs, voice a low growl, gravelly and warm. His fingers twitched like he’s debating whether to grab your waist or snap his pen.

He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. “You got a death wish, baby? Hm?” He groans, tossing the pen across the desk. “Tch… fuck it.”

He leans back, arms slipping around your waist, pulling you tighter against him. “Guess I’m takin’ a break after all.”